Explanations
by wanderingraincloud
Summary: At the end of season 7, Deanna Troi has some explaining to do. Basically my attempt at filling in the massive gaping plot hole left by the powers that be in the relationships between 3 of my favourite characters. Rated for not particularly graphic descriptions of intimacy and alien morality.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Explanations

For Deanna Troi, it had always been easier to describe what her relationship to Will Riker wasn't than what it was. They weren't friends in a way that most people would understand, neither were they lovers, or partners. They were, at the same time, more, and less, than all of these; bound to each other without shackles, committed somehow without commitment, intangibly but undeniably linked. Her people had a word for it, of course, with their unique understanding of thought and emotion and the way that one soul was woven through the fabric of all those around it, but that word, like their relationship, could not be truly translated. No one who understood it would need a translation.

On Betazed people would take in what they were to each other with a single breath, and never want an explanation. Humans would observe for a while, see the closeness, and the kisses, the way his hands lingered when he touched her, and the times they spent with others, and draw their own conclusions. There were very few times in her life that she had been asked to define their connection. Which is why, even though perhaps she should have predicted it, it took her by surprise when Worf stood in front of her in a corridor, intense and awkward, and said,

"Perhaps, before there is a next time, we should discuss Commander Riker,"

She'd made light of it at first, then teased him gently, and kissed him, but when the captain stepped back onto the lift, and Worf's stubborn uneasiness hadn't abated, she'd sighed, and taken his hand to pull him into her quarters for something far more solemn than she had originally planned.

"I think you'd better come inside," she said, with a voice that had suddenly lost any trace of the playfulness it had previously held, adding a serious "to talk," when he still seemed reluctant.

With stiff shoulders he gave in to the insistent tug of her hand and followed her across the threshold, trying to ignore the angry tangle of hope and dread that pressed down on the back of his brain as he thought about the conversation they were about to have. His eyes dropped to their joined hands, and he realised that the physical contact would not allow her the luxury of such ignorance, but he did not want to let her go. There was something compelling in the delicate strength of her pale hands, and the unfamiliar heat of her soft skin against his that made him want to hold on to her. Maybe this was what Commander Riker felt.

His grip tightened. He felt his sudden jealousy burning towards a rage in his veins, but he controlled himself, and sat silently where she bid him to. Still she gasped. Whether from pain, or his suppressed outburst of emotion, he didn't know, but it reminded him of how much more complicated this was with her than it would be with even a human woman. It was impossible to keep any part of himself from her. She would know of the desires that warred with his sense of honour when he was with her. She could feel the lust that flared when she smiled or tilted her head on a tease, exposing the unbroken skin of her neck and shoulder to his hungry gaze. Especially when they were touching like this. That was compelling too, the alien depths of her awareness, the ease with which she understood. But it was also daunting, even for him. He dropped her hand. His eyes snapped to hers, and he steadfastly refused to be intimidated by their blackness. She had eyes that could swallow your soul.

"Deanna," he demanded, irritated with himself for that last thought "What is your relationship to Commander Riker?"

She exhaled sharply, as if the bluntness of his question had stolen her breath, and looked away, more uncertain than he had ever seen her.

"It's complicated, Worf," she said at last, when the silent tension between them became too much to pretend not to feel it, "I'm not sure I can explain it in a way you can understand."

Unsatisfied, he grunted, taking hold of her chin with a firm hand and forced her to look at him again. "Try."

She swallowed, dark eyes flicking to his, and then away again. The truth was that if she was attempting to form a serious attachment to any other person on the ship they would have had a better chance of understanding, and accepting, this than Worf did. Their cultures viewed intimacy so differently that she was sometimes amazed that they'd even got this far.

"I care for Will a great deal, and..." she shrugged, smiling slightly as she raised her fingers to trail across her forehead to her temple, like she'd done for Riker many times, before catching Worf's hand and pulling it away from her face. "We are connected," she told him.

"I see," he said, although he didn't, "But you are not mates?"

"No." Which was true from most people's perspectives.

"And you do not -" He stopped, unsure how to continue, and hating that he needed to ask this.

Her eyes flashed with fire when she heard that, then rapidly cooled to ice as she stared straight back at him. Her human side was angry that he would even ask, and the Betazoid half railed against the judgement and disapproval it felt behind his words. Either way her hesitation fled, along with any desire to make this easier for him.

Her perfect dark brows arching in aristocratic ire, she leant into his personal space, and, in a voice full of exactly the wrong type of heat, she asked "We do not what?"

His lips peeled back from his teeth and he could feel his muscles coiling. It was a natural Klingon response to her challenge, arousal building alongside fury. He knew it was the wrong one, however, and with some effort he restrained himself. Still, with his body screaming at him to drive her back and subdue her, he had no chance of coming up with an appropriate way of finishing his question. He might have forgotten that he'd asked it at all if it hadn't been the very thing holding him in check right then.

"You do not... mate?" he bit out, somehow avoiding the terran profanity he'd heard slung around the lower decks.

She smiled dangerously at him "Does it matter?"

"Yes." A Klingon woman with any honour at all would have removed his head for suggesting what he had about Troi's relationship with Riker. But Deanna wasn't Klingon, her culture had very different views about such things, and for as long as they had all served together on the Enterprise there had been rumours. He'd heard things; openly discussed in ten forward as often as they had been murmered in late night corridors; and he'd ignored them until now, when honour demanded he determined the truth before proceeding. Asking, as the Riker in one of the parallel universes he'd visited had put it, a man to date his sister, was very different from attempting to court a woman whom Klingon tradition at least would view as a superior officer's wife, regardless of whether or not she was open to the idea.

She recognised his anxiety almost before he did. At this range it rolled off him in waves so intense that it crashed over his angry desire and into her senses like an almost tangible thing, threatening to drown them both in his turmoil. Her irritation at his question vanished in its wake, replaced with concern for him, and regret that the only answers she could give would likely add to his anguish.

Taking a deep breath, she sat back, giving him the physical space that she knew, from long experience counselling him and his son, he would need to process what he was feeling, and what she was about to say. Klingons were a very physical race. Perhaps it was to be expected that it was that aspect of her closeness to Will that seemed to be causing him the most problems, even though for her it was the least important part of her connection to the commander.

There was little chance she could make him understand. His attitudes towards intimacy and relationships were staunchly Klingon, and she was her mother's daughter. Being open to each other's thoughts and feelings had made Betazed an honest and excepting culture, one that valued the unity of mind, word, and action. Physical as well as emotional love was shared freely, and not even marriage required monogamy, as traditionally this was simply a way of tying two or more families together to create a supportive environment in which to raise children, regardless of their true parentage. On Qo'nos, in contrast, they were expected to wed the one they bed. For Worf it could never be 'just a bit of fun' and she wasn't convinced that was all she wanted from him either. But there was Will, and the bond that tied their souls together no matter how hard they tried to keep their lives separate. Even on the Enterprise, that had never been very hard. She sighed; Worf was right, they needed to talk about this, although she knew there was little chance of the discussion ending happily for the two of them.

"There are many types of love, Worf. What I have with Will needn't affect what we could have together... unless we want it to. It would not prevent me from choosing a future with you, if that's what we decided on. But he and I will always share some level of intimacy as well, regardless of whether it is physically expressed."

Perhaps it wasn't the clearest explanation, but it was the kindest; the one least likely to increase the awkward dread he was feeling. And predictably he wasn't satisfied by it.

"Regardless of whether..." He repeated softly to himself, trying to find his blunt answer in her subtle words. Then his head snapped up, eyes hard, and suddenly cold at the perceived dishonour of what she had said "NO!" he almost barked "I cannot take what belongs to another man!"

"Belongs?!" she asked, brows arching in indignation. If anything on Betazed ownership in relationships tended to be viewed in the opposite direction. She had considered them becoming lovers, perhaps partners, but never that she'd become his property in any way!

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Worf was too consumed by his own mounting anger to hear hers "When was the last time that you felt the need to 'physically express' your intimacy with Commander Riker?!" he demanded.

And Deanna, unearthly control cracking in the emotional heat, told him. "Last week. The night Ro defected."

Will had come to her in the middle of the night, lost somewhere between frustration and sorrow, and unable to sleep, and she'd taken him to her bed and helped him find himself there. She'd let him take complete control that night, mind and body, because that's what he'd needed to chase away the helplessness he'd been feeling; and he'd repaid her with worship. She wondered what Worf would say if she told him that breeze on the Black Sea had reminded her of Will's breath against her skin that night, and the salt of his tears as he had kissed her. Or that as she looked down at her hands, unwilling to meet the Klingon's accusing stare, she was remembering the way that Will had taken those hands and gently pushed them over her head, strong fingers wrapping around her wrists and trapping them against her pillow.

"I see," Worf spat out the words like they were boiling gagh, and she knew the instant they left his throat that they weren't true. He didn't see. He couldn't. This, she, was never going to fit into his idealised sense of Klingon propriety. No matter what they wanted.

Because even now, with Worf so close to her that she could feel the heat of his lavender blood, and the tension coiling under his tough skin; even with the his lustful outrage searing through her empathic sense; she could still feel Will. He was tangled through her being, mind and soul, warm strands of affection and acceptance calming the turbulence Worf created. Like a fine web of feelings that stopped her getting washed away in an angry flood. She could love them both, but if she let go of Will, she'd be lost.

He was close by, she knew, maybe only a few meters away behind the bulkhead that separated their quarters and he was thinking about her. A single breath in, then out, and they melted into each other's memories.

And although it should never have been possible, she could hear Will's voice whisper her name like he had that night. He was calling to her; his thoughts as seductive as his body had been. Forgetting herself, she fell.

She could feel the dark warmth of his mind surrounding hers, and the solid weight of him settling on her body, pushing her into the bed. When his spare hand found the back of one naked thigh, she remembered the softness of her flesh under his hands as he had felt it, gently guiding it up beside his hip, opening her to his arousal. Lost in the burning slick stretch and fluttering pressure at the moment of penetration, her stomach muscles starting to quiver, she looked up expecting to see smiling blue eyes, but heard someone else scream instead.

Worf. When he saw her gaze drop away from his he'd thought it was shame, that she had realised the wrongness of her expectations, and what she had done with their best friend, and couldn't bare to look at him. Then something happened in the depths of those endless alien eyes that caught his attention, like sparks of lightning followed by soft clouds between them, hiding him from her no matter where she looked. What ever it was, the vulnerability of it drew him closer. The hunter inside him was eager to watch his prey without being seen, without his soul being read. A rare opportunity. He heard her sigh, and leaned in, so close that he could feel the next shuddering breath against his cheek, and as his hungry gaze dropped down the tempting column of her throat to the rise and fall of her breasts, he could make out the tightness of her nipples against the soft rose fabric that covered them. Still she didn't seem to notice his presence, or the danger she was in.

His mouth opened without his command, exposing his sharp teeth, and he breathed in her scent. He could have her now, some savage, burried part of him realised, bite deep into that sweet line of muscle where her shoulder met her neck, claim her and deny his commanding officer what he thought was his. The thought was fleeting. He could not hurt her that way, and the very idea of it shattered with what he heard on her next breath.

"Imzadi,"

Riker. He had heard her call Riker that, and never cared what it meant until now. Now he knew. It meant that what he had hoped for was impossible. He stood, tipped back his head and yelled. Like a warrior releasing the spirit of the fallen, he released his heart from the hope of loving her.

He walked out of her quarters, never noticing the tears in the suddenly lucid black eyes, or the softly whispered "I'm so sorry, Worf,"

What he did see was the man who had caused so much heartache with his indecision, running towards him as he left her behind "Riker"

Wide-eyed and shoeless, the first officer grabbed his friend by the shoulders, forceful enough in his panic to have hurt another man. "What happened?" Riker wanted to know. "What did you do to her?"

With some difficulty the Klingon shrugged off the strong hands, and his own anger at the accusation. "Nothing." he said "It was done long before I met her."


End file.
